Changed
by Oblivian03
Summary: No one is the same when they return after battle. Takes place after the BoFA.
1. Between Remembering and Not Remembering

**I do not own the Hobbit or anything related to it. **

**Note:**

**There are three types of Post-Traumatic Stress. The two I chose were re-experiencing the traumatic event (Bofur) and avoidance and numbing (Bombur). Just so you know.**

**All four chapters are not really related - they are all one-shots in a different person's point of view.**

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**Between Remembering and Not Remembering**

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_Screams filled the blood stained air, both human and beastlike. Streaks of light pierced the gloom as fiery arrows were aimed high over their heads and into the midst of their ranks. _

_Many fell victim to either the swarm of arrows, a flying javelin, a deadly blade or a crushing mace. Over and over again, those around him were cut down, making the ever increasing pile of bodies higher. They appeared to float in a hot, thick, sticky substance that poured by the gallon from the multiple lacerations dealt to each corpse._

_He swung his hammer again and again, seemingly drowning in a sea of flowing red blood. It rose up to his ankles, knees, thighs, slowly growing in amount. There was nothing he could do to escape it and when he reached up to climb a pile of the heedlessly tossed aside dead, he fell back, hands now stained with red._

_He tried frantically to wipe it off, but to no avail. The scarlet sea was now up to his hips and still steadily increasing in volume, weak waves growing stronger and washing away the dead and alive alike. _

_Now struggling to stay afloat, he took in great gasping breaths, arms and legs paddling with a fierce determination. Behind him he heard his brother call out but he was overtaken by sheer, animal panic._

_He went under, pulled down by a giant wave, before bursting up to the surface again. The area around him was now silent with the exception of the ferocious waves around him._

_He went under again and again. He had lost his hat long before; it had floated away to the never ending horizon of red, blood red. One final time he was pulled down and this time he could not resurface, his limbs weighed down with great weights. _

_He allowed himself to sink slowly, slowly to the bottom, the thick blood filling his mouth. But the bottom never came…_

Bofur woke, screaming and gasping for air as he tried to pull his way out of the realistic nightmare that had again plagued his sleep. Bifur was crouched next to him, making sure he did not cause himself any injury and keeping him away from the edge of the bed. His brother stood on the other side, trying unsuccessfully to calm him down.

After what seemed like an eternity, the toymaker began to settle, calming through the careful words of Bombur and the comforting babble of Bifur. He laid, panting, on the bed as the other two watched him with concerned gazes.

"Well," said Bombur finally, forcing forward a cheery voice, "I have managed to acquire quite a feast for tonight. It would make you think we are heroes or something." With that he walked out. Bifur also exited, closing the door to give his cousin some privacy.

Bofur sat up, putting his head in his hands. It was supposed to be him that was the cheery one, the one forcing himself to be optimistic in the toughest of situations. Now the job had fallen to his brother through his sheer inability to even close his eyes for a few seconds without remembering the blood filled battle for Erebor.

The nightmares assaulted him day and night, stealing away his resilience to deal with any problem larger than accidently dropping a bowl. Even being late to diner or chipping one of his half-finished carvings were enough to send him over the edge. The problem was that sometimes the nightmares weren't nightmares and were actual memories from the battle, so real that it was like he was fighting it again. Several times he had struck either his brother or cousin by accident, mistaking them for an enemy he had slain on the battlefield. It had gotten so bad he refused to leave the house, afraid that he would accidently hurt a woman or child in one of his fits. He used to have loved children; they had come from all over the small village they had lived in before the quest to chat to him and inspect his wares with a highly trained young eye.

From what he knew, he was not the only one to suffer from the battle in his small household. It had not done much damage to Bifur, for his mind had already been addled from an orc raid decades ago, but Bombur was a different case. Bofur had noticed him actively avoiding any reminder of the battle and he seemed not to recall any memory of the day or the few traumatic events that had unfolded after. Every time he caught him unawares or by himself, he seemed indifferent and detached from what he was doing.

In truth, it was really their cousin that held the family together now. Bofur had seen him carefully removing any sign of the battle that had taken place from their shared living quarters. The gentle dwarf had also sat with the toymaker when he had become so lost, so down he just wallowed in a seemingly never ending pit of despair, and it was him that had then dug him out of the pit. It was him that earned the money now, Bombur and Bofur both contributing to the small toyshop the burly dwarf had opened. And it was him that sat with his traumatised cousin of a night, talking to him in a gabbled nonsense that was both calming and familiar.

Sighing, Bofur stood, removing the covers that covered him. It was a struggle to get out of bed now, and every day it only grew worse. If it was not for his family and the regular visits paid to him by the surviving members of the company, he would have ended the torment his mind put him through long ago. One could only bear so much.

"Are you up?" Bofur looked up to see his brother's false expression of good humour staring back at him. He nodded, then moved to pull on a fresh tunic.

_There was a scream behind him as a large goblin sent a dwarf flying into a pile of broken spears and bodies behind him. He was impaled multiple times and Bofur rushed over to see if he was still alive. The dwarf gurgled, blood pouring from his mouth, eyes bulging from his head. Bofur watched, horrified, as the warrior gurgled his last breath and the light in his eyes dimmed and faded. The smell of blood filled his nostrils and a yell sounded behind him…_

A hand grabbed his shoulder and Bofur looked up, startled. Bifur was staring at him. He spoke. It took a while for the traumatised dwarf to understand his cousin.

"I…am…fine," he replied in between shaky breaths, finally understanding that Bifur was asking if he was alright and not wanting to talk about it. Bifur raised his eyebrows but said nothing more. Instead he wrapped his arms around the toymaker's shaking form and stayed there.

Eventually they moved into the dining room and sat down at the table. Bombur entered and placed a plateful of food in front of each of them. He forced a smile then left, saying he had to finish carving some toys. Bofur looked after him. He knew his brother had forcefully blocked most of the memories from the battle, even so much as avoiding him when he had one of his fits. Not that Bofur could blame him.

_A goblin fell to his feet, head smashed in by his hammer. Blood and brains mixed together on the ground, swirling around in a sickening way. The foul substance drenched the already gore mattered hair of a man that lay face down in the dirt, the shaft of a well-placed arrow protruding from his back…_

Between remembering and forgetting, he would rather not remember.

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	2. Cripple By His Hand

**Note:**

**This one's in Oin's point of view. Enjoy.**

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**Cripple By His Hand**

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A grunt of frustration reached his deaf ears and the experienced healer felt another flash of guilt run down his spine. The rest of his brother's immediate family had yet to join them in the newly liberated dwarfish city and Gloin had become focused on learning how to do everything one-handed, a task that the dwarf loathed in the uttermost way. Not that he held anything against his elder brother.

Oin had been forced to amputate the lower half of his brother's left arm after it had been mangled beyond recognition and pinned down by a rather heavy spear. Even if Oin could have saved it, there was no way Gloin would have ever been able to use it again. So the healer had cut it off, knowing his brother was losing a lot of blood and that any efforts to save the arm would prove futile, ineffective, and would quite possibly waste the little amount of time he had had to save him. Now he had to live with the guilt that he had been the one to cripple his brother even of it had been to save his life, and in his own eyes, Oin wold never be able to forgive himself for that fact. He was supposed to be the elder after all, the one who protected his sibling.

"Brooding again brother?" Gloin's cheerful tone sliced through the gloom that engulfed him, causing him to snap out of the sorrowful place he was in.

"Just thinking," he replied half-heartedly, unable to meet the red headed dwarf's eyes as he sat down opposite him.

"It's not your fault. You did what you had to do." the old dwarf looked up and sighed. They had this argument almost every day.

"You know I can only blame myself. If I had been a better healer…" Gloin snorted.

"That would not have a thing. In fact, I probably would have died had you not cut it off when you had, and, if it's anyone's fault, it would be the bloody goblin that destroyed my arm in the first place." Gloin's fierce but gentle words lost all reason on the half deaf healer. For Oin, only he could be awarded the blame for his brother's disability.

"Gloin..." His brother cut him off.

"Just be glad I am still alive and that you and Balin do not have to plan for another funeral. Durin knows the company's had a hard enough time of it already." Oin sighed again. It was true. With the last of the line of Durin killed in the battle, the position of King Under the Mountain had fallen to Thorin's closet living relative, Dain. The dwarf had paid the proper respects to the former king as well as his two nephews, even commenting on how they, at least, should have been spared from the horrific consequences of battle. Oin agreed. Such brutality was no place for the young and somewhat inexperienced. Especially those that had once been so full of life and joy.

The older healer set back to grinding the bunch of herbs before him into a paste like substance that he would put aside in case of an emergency. The familiar sound did not help to sooth the grey bearded dwarf, only enhance his guilt at what he had done and his loathing towards himself for having done it.

"Come, why don't we pay Bifur, Bofur and Bombur a visit?" Gloin was obviously trying to draw his older brother out of the shell he was now encased in but it would not work. Oin maintained his dark mood. Never the less, it had been a while since he had last seen the trio who were suffering in their own way after the battle.

"Aright then, let me just clear up here."

"I'll help."

Gloin made to reach for a pile of herbs with his left hand while helping his brother up from the chair that had stiffened his back somewhat but stopped halfway. Oin watched him warily for a reaction, any reaction. Other than pausing for a moment, he continued on as if nothing had happened, grabbing the bowl that his older brother had been using.

CRASH!

"Why don't I leave you to clean up. I'll go and…uh…find our coats." Oin watched his brother go with a burdened heart. After a while, he sighed and bent to pick up the broken pieces of the ceramic bowl. It was heavier than it looked, requiring two hands to be carried correctly without being dropped.

_Two hands…_

Mahal, how he hated himself for cutting off his brother's hand. And his brother…the ginger haired dwarf was clearly more upset than he was letting on.

"Argh!" cried a voice from the hall, a voice that was all too familiar. Oin immediately dropped what he was doing and walked at top speed towards the sound.

"Gloin, what's wrong?" he asked as he rounded the corner. The sight had him stopping short. "Gloin…?" His brother looked up and growled, before he threw his cloak to the ground and stormed off, his cheeks a brilliant shade of scarlet. Oin sighed and leant against the wall, brow furrowed in deep though and regret.

After a few minutes, he bent to pick up his younger brother's discarded cloak. He looked at the ties around the neck and bit his lip. No wonder his brother had been frustrated; the ties were especially fiddly, requiring _two_ hands to tie. Gloin only had _one_. Deciding he needed to speak to his brother, he folded the cloak and set it aside.

The half deaf healer moved towards the only part of the house he knew his brother would seek solitude.

"Gloin?" he asked tentatively. There was movement in the shadows and Oin strained his eyes to see through the darkness. He heard a desolated sigh.

"Leave me brother," Gloin said slowly, "I do not want company at this moment." The ginger dwarf's undertone sent another, more hurtful message; I do not want your company. Oin held back his tears and exhaled loudly.

"If you want to talk about-"

"Leave me!" Gloin all but yelled, his tone hard as he stood menacingly a few feet away from his elder brother.

"Alright then," Oin replied, slowly closing the door to the room that his nephew, Gimli, would soon occupy. A lone tear made its path from the corner of his eye, down his cheek, across his jawline and off his chin. Gloin would cool off, he knew; the ginger dwarf always did. But he was right to hate him. Being a cripple meant that you couldn't depend on yourself to do everyday things you would have been able to do otherwise. If only the battle for Erebor hadn't happened…

How he regretted that day and everything that had come from it.

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	3. Fear of Separation

**Note:**

**The mental illness present in this section is Adult Anxiety Separation Disorder (Dori). Just so you know. This is in Nori's point of view. Hope you like it.**

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**Fear of Separation**

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"Ori, Nori, where are you?" The shifty dwarf sighed at his older brother's call.

"I'm in the next room," he said in answer.

"What about Ori? Where is he?" Dori's almost panicky tone floated through the walls and into the range of Nori's ears.

"Ori's at the markets buying us food, remember. He left not long ago," came Nori's exasperated reply.

"Oh. Well…how long until he returns?"

"I don't know how long he will be. It is quite a while from here to the markets." This answer obviously didn't reassure his brother.

"Maybe I should have gone with him…"

Nori rounded the corner and grabbed his brother by the shoulders, looking deep into Dori's eyes.

"Stop worrying brother. He will be fine. Ori is tougher than you give him credit. Just go back to whatever you were doing before, Dori, and stop suffocating us."

Nori knew this was harsh and the put out light in his brother's eyes sent a pang of guilt through his heart, but what else could he do? After the battle Dori had been quiet and exceptionally clingy. Nori and his younger brother were waiting to see if the oldest of the trio would revert back to his usual self but as the time passed it grew less and less likely that would ever be the case.

While Ori seemed to have become more confident over the quest and he himself seemed to have dialled down some of his more…shady activities since they now had more than enough to live on comfortably, Dori had changed for the worse. He was still obsessively polite but now was also obsessively concerned with making sure he knew where his two younger brothers were at any and all times. Nori had an inkling of what had caused it; during the battle they had all become separated. None of them had been injured but still…and with the deaths of Thorin and his two nephews, Dori's reaction was understandable. But still, it had been going on for months and, to be truthful, Nori was tired of it. He needed some air.

"Where do you think you're going?" asked Dori as the younger of the two began to step out into the various passageways of Erebor. Nori could have punched the wall in frustration.

"For a walk to get some air _alone_." Nori felt another stab of guilt pierce his heart as he imagined the look that would have crossed Dori's face at the mention of that word. He had unsuccessfully tried to avoid using that word knowing what it would do to his brother. Ori had been having better luck.

The sound of a jar smashing on the floor let Nori know his brother was having one of his fits again. Whether it was out of rage he didn't know but it was most likely the case; rage that Nori was leaving him, abandoning him. Another crashing sound jolted Nori out of his trance like state and back into reality. He had better calm his brother before the dwarf broke anything else.

"Alright, I'll stay," said the somewhat tense dwarf as he edged slowly into the room that held his brother, "Sorry for…" He wasn't exactly sure what he was sorry for not that it mattered. Dori was in too much of a temper to hear Nori's words.

"No, you can't leave me alone. We need to stay together and keep each other safe," he babbled on, grabbing another bowl to smash. Nori stepped in, deciding to intervene before the piece of crockery was reduced to being fragments on the floor. Fragments _he_ would have to clean up.

"Dori, calm down," he started, grabbing the plate of his brother and putting it out of harm's way, "Look, I'm hear and I'm not going anywhere, I promise. Ori will be back soon so why don't you have a nap while you wait?" Thankfully Dori agreed, calming at a rapid pace as soon as Nori had promised not to leave. He nodded in response to his younger brother.

"Alright then. But make sure you stay near me so that I know you are safe."

Mahal he was being clinging.

"Alright then," said Nori through almost gritted teeth.

Ori was better at this than he was. The younger dwarf had more patience and was willing to sit bored for hours as he patronised his oldest brother. Nori, on the other hand, was almost incapable of being chained in the same place for excessively long periods of time, quickly growing bored and wanting to move onto the next thing. That wasn't to say he wasn't worried about his older brother.

"I'll stay right here," he finished, sitting resignedly down on a wooden chair. From the initial hardness of the wood he knew he was going to be uncomfortable for the next few hours.

As Dori moved into the room where his bed laid and settled in for a quick nap, Nori began to tap with his right hand. He was not looking forward to having to reassure his brother when the grey bearded dwarf woke from a nightmare claiming he had seen both Ori and Nori being forcibly dragged away from him by a group of faceless creatures. As if that would ever happen now that they were safely within the walls of Erebor. After a while he heard the door open and shut. His head snapped up from where it had fallen in weariness.

"Greetings brother. And where is Dori?"

"Sleeping," Nori replied, jerking his head towards the eldest dwarf's bedroom door.

"Ah," Ori said quietly before beginning to put away that which he had brought, "I don't suppose you wish to help me with the stew?" Nori shook his head.

"If it's all the same to you, I'll go out to get some air. I'll be back before he wakes."

Ignoring the looks his younger brother sent after him, Nori strode out the door and into the more spacious setting of the main city. The relatively fresh air helped to clear his head.

He had never been good at expressing what he felt and now was no exception. He knew he came off as indifferent or impatient with his older brother sometimes but that was just how it was and he obviously wasn't going to change. But there was no denying that Dori worried him and every day he prayed to Aluë for a miracle that would most likely never happen.

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	4. Survivor's Guilt

**Note:**

**My last post could have probably been written better but I hope this makes up for it. It is the fourth and last one shot for this fanfic.**

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**Survivor's Guilt **

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It was stupid really when he thought about it, but it could not be helped. No matter how many times he and his brother went over this it was virtually impossible to erase the feelings he had, the endless questions that plagued him, questions that could never be answered for they were gone, all three of them in what seemed like the blink of an eye. How he wished it was not true.

He was smart enough to not let his mind get the better of him when he was on duty but it was when he was alone, like now, when his heart really started suffering. They were too young, all three of them too young for the burdens they had born.

True, that as the oldest and probably best prepared Thorin had been more sure in his actions and more reassured in his self. That did not mean that he didn't have doubts. The old dwarf remembered all the times that the proud king had questioned himself and his motives, one of the foremost in his mind when they had all been displaced from Erebor by Smaug's attack.

_"I am not sure of what to do my friend," said the dark haired dwarf in defeat, "There are just so many to find homes for, to look over and I am not sure that I am the one who can accomplish that for them." Beside him, his white bearded companion looked over where the rest of the refugees were camped._

_"There is no one else who can take your place laddie and besides, look how far you have gotten us already. I doubt anyone else could have accomplished such a feat in so short an amount of time and with so many under their care." His careful words did little to reassure his throneless king._

_"I could go to Dain for help but I fear he would just laugh us off. That or he will say that there is nothing he can spare us for he has his own to people to attend to and watch over. No doubt he will also question my abilities as a leader," he stated bitterly, "He knows of the sickness that plagued my grandfather's mind and the madness that came over my father after his own father's death. Will he not say that I, being of the same blood, am just as likely to fall into a state of complete and utter madness, unable to lead my people?" His companion shook his head, disagreeing._

_"Dain would not turn you away and nor would he question the state of the blood which runs in your veins. You forget the same blood runs in his own veins though to a lesser degree. He is your cousin after all, your family, and to mock your linage would be to mock his own."_

_"I would not be too sure. Dain is tight fisted with his resources and he has his own problems to contend with."_

_"You disregard him too easily, Thorin. Dain will help you if you ask. He is not a monster and nor is he unsympathetic to our situation."_

_"Our situation indeed," muttered the king darkly, "Our situation has caused the loss of many lives." His advisor sighed._

_"I know you still grieve for the loss of your brother but he is gone and there is nothing you can do. You should instead focus on the living who still need you."_

_"But what if I am not enough?" Thorin countered, "Tell me what would happen if I proved to be an insufficient leader."_

The proud dwarf had later gone on to achieve wonders beyond even his own wildest dreams.

Thorin had been young when he had experienced such an extraordinarily large amount of loss. His home, grandfather, father and brother all victims of something he did not have the ability to prevent not to mention the countless scores that died as a result of starvation, exhaustion, freezing conditions and orcs. It was enough to strip away any hope that Thorin had had of living the normal life of a dwarf fresh into his adulthood. Of course dwelling on this only increased the levels of guilt that was inflicting itself upon Balin.

Why did he have to die? Why could he not prevent it? The simple answer was that it had been a result of fate, yet the old dwarf's conscious refused to accept it. What was more was that he could not prevent the deaths of the two who had been like sons to him, sons he never had.

Fili and Kili had been arguably too young to have come on the journey but they had refused to be left behind. Their stubbornness had been matched by only that of their uncle's and at times Balin believed that they had exceeded the strong headed dwarf in that aspect. Balin knew they had been Thorin's joy, his little miracles that were the light to his darkness. That was not to say that they had had an easy time. Far from it in fact. The two had been raised in uncertain times and that alone had left its imprint on them. That coupled with the fact they had lost their parents at a very young age meant that they had had to grow up quicker than most others, Fili in particular.

_"It's alright lad, I'm sure he will be fine," said Balin as a way of reassurance. A nine year old Fili turned to look at him with unsettled eyes._

_"Are you sure?" he asked in a worried voice. Balin nodded._

_"It was only a sprain, nothing broke meaning he should make a full and quick recovery. He may be sore for a few days." The older dwarf spoke from experience. Fili looked at the ground._

_"I should have been watching him," he began, clearly berating himself. Balin shook his head._

_"No Fili, do not think that way. You were with me. There was no way you could know he would fall while climbing on top of the table," Balin said reasonably. Fili looked up and the white haired dwarf was taken aback by the look in the small blonde's eyes. It didn't belong there, not in the face of one so young._

_"I should have been there to stop him, to protect him from the danger. I am his older brother."_

_Balin opened his mouth but no words came out. He was too surprised at finding the look he had seen so much in Thorin in the king's eldest nephew._

Balin had often regretted the situation that had forced the boys to lose their childhood in such a way. Kili had not been as affected by it as his brother had been but he had had his own problems to deal with. As the youngest of the line of Durin he had had much to prove, trying to fill the boots his uncle and brother had left him. At times it had caused him extreme pain and grief.

_"There's no point in dwelling on it. What's done is done." Balin was not surprised when Kili acted as if he hadn't heard his words. "All I'm saying is there is nothing you can do now and getting upset over it will not change the outcome."_

_When the young dwarf still refused to acknowledge his elder Balin gave up trying to reason with him and sat down. He waited a while before he spoke again._

_"May I ask what it is that's so important about this anyway?" he said. Kili looked at his hands._

_"It's just that they've both accomplished it with little difficulty." Balin didn't have to ask to know who they were._

_"So what's the problem? You could just ask them for help." As soon as Balin said this he regretted it. Kili's head snapped up and he stood quickly._

_"I need to do this on my own if I am to accomplish anything otherwise it means nothing," he said before running out of the room. Balin sighed. He knew he could have handled that with more tact._

Balin frowned to himself as he thought over the memory. As the eldest, he had never had to contend with whatever his brother had succeeded in doing and nor had he known the humiliation of having to ask his brother for help when he could not achieve the same goals.

The wave of guilt came over him again as another memory pushed its way to the front of his mind and he tensed unconsciously as he awaited the fresh grief the memory would bring.

_Three graves all in a row, the one in the middle raised on a higher platform. All three were decorated elaborately, only befitting considering who laid beneath the stone lids._

_The funeral procession had finished and most of the mourners were gone leaving only those belonging to the original company behind to grieve over what they had lost. They all wore black or another dark colour, expressing the equally dark state they were in._

_Of all who could have died, none of them had expected these three would be slain on the bloody battlefield outside of Erebor. It was madness, but what was the world? Certainly not sane Balin reflected as he listened to the last of the sorrowful tune that had accompanied them to the burial._

_Slowly, in pairs or threes, the others left until Balin and Dwalin were alone in the tomb. They stood, staring at the graves for a few moments longer before a sympathetic squeeze on the shoulder told Balin it was time to leave._

_Blowing out the candles near the door and closing the great doors that would keep the shared tomb untouched by daily life, Balin reflected on how easily their lives had been snuffed out in the blink of an eye._

In the blink of an eye…

If Balin could have gone back in time to the battle, he would have done anything to take their place, anything at all.

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